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Gereza Prologue
By Mr. Camel
This is the beginning of a story I wrote in August 2005. I'm thinking about continuing it, but I'd like to know what people think of it so far. I'm probably going to rewrite part this to make it easier to follow, too, because right now it kind of jumps around chronologically. It could probably be easier to understand...
Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. Thanks! =)
Africa
28 June 1928
Lightning struck every few minutes; each flash was preceded by a growling thunder from the gloomy sky. The black clouds blocked the moon from view. The monotonous, unending patter of rain was unnerving.
Arthur Chapman shuddered and trembled inside a 1927 Mercedes Benz. He held an American handgun in his hand. A makeshift bandage covered his right temple, and dried blood clung to the side of his face. His eyes darted back to the windshield. Sweat dripped out of his pores.
He heard a faint rustling in the trees, barely audible over the rain splashing against the leaves. He swung his head to the left and looked out the window. Of course, he saw nothing; it was pitch black.
The Mercedes sat at the end of an overgrown path. The path probably hadn’t been used in more than thirty years, Randy had said earlier. Beyond the path was a clearing that held a small village. This space was about five acres in size, and about thirty huts were built on it. Earlier in the day, he and Randy had investigated the town. They found no signs of life, and a thick layer of dust covered any furnishings within the houses. By the time they finished, dark was approaching. They then spotted a small, winding path that led up a hill. It was too small for the car to fit, and so they walked. There was a temple at the end of the path; it looked like the Mayan or Aztec pyramids in Central America. Randy said he’d explore it, even though he doubted he’d find anything. He’d be back in an hour or so, he had said. And Arthur had strolled back down the path.
The sun had been setting at that time. He had made his way back to the car, and found that something had sabotaged it. A puddle of oil was under the car, and it was growing. Arthur didn’t know anything about cars, and so he couldn’t fix it. He climbed over the puddle into the Mercedes, and waited for Randy.
Two hours later, Randy still hadn’t returned. It was a little after nine o’clock in the evening, now. Arthur had rummaged through the supplies, and found a Colt M1873 handgun. Just to be safe, he had assured himself. He left the vehicle and began walking up the path to find the temple.
He had walked no more than twenty feet of the path before a hulking shape leapt down in front of him from out of the trees. He thought it might be a gorilla, but it was so dark, he couldn’t tell. The gorilla, or whatever it was, grabbed his ankle and pulled his foot out from under him. He fell to the ground, surprised. He brought himself to his knees, and the gorilla-thing leapt at him. He rolled out of the way, and banged his head on a tree. He had brought the gun up, and shot the thing in the head. It glared at him—he couldn’t see in the darkness, but he somehow felt that it had glared at him—and punched him in the stomach before falling dead on the side of the path.
He had sat the ground and regained composure. He realized a warm liquid was running down his face. He looked back up the path as he stood up. He was now very worried about Randy. He had had to get to the temple immediat—a few more things fell onto the path ten feet ahead, and the growled at him. His eyes widened and he stifled a scream, and he ran back down the path and more things appeared and the ran at him—charged at him—and he screamed and he shot a few of them and he had finally reached the car and he slipped in the oil and fell and the things prepared to descend upon him and lightning struck and it began to rain very hard and they suddenly fled.
He had lain in the oil for several minutes after that, too afraid to move. Eventually, he gripped the pistol again and sat up. He couldn’t see anything; sheets of rain poured from the sky all around him. The lightning must have scared them away, he had thought. He climbed back to his feet and entered into the safety of the Mercedes. He had bandaged his head and ate.
And now, several hours further into the night, he sat in the car trembling, waiting for them to return, as he knew they would. He had no idea what time it was, his wristwatch had been broken. He could only hope sunrise was on its way, though. He was scared out of his mind.
***
Arthur Chapman was thirty years old. His parents were British colonists of South Africa. He and Randolph Nichols became friends early in their school years. Both were interested in archaeology, and studied it in England after school. Upon completing their studies, they returned to Africa and looked for traces of artifacts or tombs or anything else that may be of significance. For several years they tagged along with other archaeological teams. However, they eventually learned of a ghost town in the Congo. There had been a diamond mine not far from the town until 1878, when it had been flooded and then abandoned. There was record of the village’s existence up until the late 1890s. They had decided it would be a nice adventure to come and look at the town.
And it had been at first, but now it was horrific. Arthur decided that there was nothing that would keep him here after sunrise. He guessed that it was now 3:00 in the morning. But that was all it was—a guess. With each passing minute, he felt a bit safer. The storm had died down a bit, now. It still rained, but not as heavily as before. The lightning was less frequent. He almost drifted into sleep, but caught himself. He couldn’t let himself sleep with those… those… things out there. He was, in fact, entirely unsure if the things had ever existed, now. Maybe it had been his imagination. And maybe Randy’s exploration of the temple had taken an hour longer than he had though, and then it stormed and he had been forced to stay there.
Those thoughts made him feel a bit better. He was tired, and had thought irrationally and hallucinated. He really should sleep, now. He’d probably sleep until noon, and by then Randy would be back. He smirked when he thought about Randy slipping in the puddle of oil outside the car. But the smirk didn’t last long.
What had sabotaged the Mercedes?
Could he have imagined the oil slick, too? And that he had simply stepped on some wet foliage and slipped to the ground on his mad dash away from the hallucinations? It was possible, he guessed. In fact, it must have been true. Who had ever heard of man-sized gorillas leaping from trees and harassing a tired archaeologist and sabotaging his vehicle? What a foolish idea. A clumsy, unsure smile appeared on his face. And he drifted into sleep.
***
Arthur awoke a short time later to the sound of thunder. It was raining harder now. The moon’s light was still blocked by the clouds. He realized that he had dropped the pistol. His hand felt along the floor for it, and he eventually felt the reassuring grip in his hand. He had two rounds left. He leaned back and took a deep breath. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating his world and startling him. He closed his eyes and sighed.
He wondered how much longer he’d have to wait. It couldn’t be too much longer before the sun rose. He’d feel much better, safer, when the sun was up. He’d sleep a bit, and then go find Randy, and they’d leave the village on foot. If they were fast, they could probably be out of the jungle by sunset. He wasn’t sure about that, but he certainly hoped it was true. It had taken twenty hours of driving to reach this place after entering the jungle, but they had had to go very slowly because, although the path was large enough for automobiles, it wasn’t designed for them. They’d probably be able to move much faster by foot than they had in the car. And they had enough food to make it. Everything would be all right.
Clunk!
Arthur opened his eyes in horror. Something had just landed on the hood of the Mercedes. But it was pitch black, and he couldn’t see it. He heard it come closer. A horrid stench entered his nostrils. It smelled like—
He could see the eyes glaring at him hungrily. They had a dim red glow. He could feel the eyes penetrating his skin, tasting the warm flesh inside his body.
Ridiculous. It was a hallucination, of course. Utterly ridiculous, and sill—
The windshield smashed inwards, and shards of glass fell on his lap.
Hallucinations don’t break windows, Arthur.
The lightning flashed again. His eyes bulged out of their sockets at the sight of the ghastly beast. It was—it was—he couldn’t describe the extreme horror before it lunged at him, fangs bared, and it missed his nose by a millimeter. The other windows smashed inwards. The first monster lunged again. He instantly raised the Colt and shot the beast in the head. It fell through the windshield on top of him. The arms of a dozen more reached through the side windows and grabbed at his shoulders. Another one had broken through the back window and grabbed his head and pulled it backward, into its gaping jaws.
Clunk!
Another landed on the windshield. The monster behind him exhaled; he felt the hot, atrocious-smelling air on his neck . The sweat dripping from his hair was joined by the thing’s saliva and they mixed and slid down his neck. He raised the handgun to his skull and pulled the trigger just as the teeth began to pierce the skin of his neck.
2/17/2006 9:31:19 PM
(Updated: 2/17/2006 9:35:10 PM)
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